


Special

by yvonna



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, Romance, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 14:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12213117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yvonna/pseuds/yvonna
Summary: The best killer in the business is instructed to kill a boy, to do so is not as easy as he thought it would be.





	Special

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Особенный](https://archiveofourown.org/works/823811) by [Nappo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nappo/pseuds/Nappo). 



> This is a Translation. I did not write this, i simply translated it so other could read it, please leave kudos for the original story;
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/823811

The man sent by the customer was not like those he usually had to deal with. He looked too young, too enthusiastic, and did not hide his eyes behind sunglasses. 

As soon as Reborn got into his car - A bright yellow Volkswagen beetle, completely unsuitable for a decent mafia member - the man first asked;

"Is it true that you are one of the best killers in the world?"

Reborn looked for passers-by, so that no one would overhear them inadvertently, slammed the car door, and answered coldly; 

"No. 

His interlocutor opened his eyes in surprise. 

"Not one of them. The Best." Reborn said, before the man could say anything else.  


In response, there was a nervous laugh, full of relief.  


"Ha, you almost had me, signore! For a second, I was afraid that I'd messed up something, and you're not the one who we need." He held out his hand, "My name is Peppe Giuseppe Continiello."  


Reborn raised his brows at the name. However, it could be fake.  


"You wanted to offer me a job?" - He asked instead, ignoring the hand  


"Not me. My boss."  


Peppe fished a clean white envelope from his briefcase and handed it to Reborn. The thick paperhad a subtle smell of spices and Chinese noodles.  
.  
Inside there was nothing but a picture of a young man in a motorcycle jacket. He held a helmet in his hand and defiantly grinned right into the camera's lens. Dark hair was disheveled by the wind, metallic rings of piercing gleamed in his ears.  
"He's a stuntman now," Peppe explained, quickly checking his notes, "In California."  
.  
Reborn nodded, looking at the photo. How did this stuntman from California manage to cross the road of the Italian mafia? Or did the mafia have nothing to do with this? The case seemed suspicious, but at the same time - it was impossible not to admit it - it sparked curiosity in him.  
.  
"Why do you need a The Best Hitman? My services are not cheap, and with such easy work a newcomer could handle it."  
.  
"A beginner could do it'....He trailed off, "do you think so?"  
.  
"Your goal is just a stuntman, not a hard-working mafia boss, who is guarded by a whole bodyguard platoon. At first glance, no difficulties should arise. Or are you not saying something? Maybe he's a special agent, undercover?"  
.  
"As far as we know, he has nothing to do with the secret services."  
.  
....  
.  
Peppe did not turn off the wipers, and they continued to work, slowly wiping raindrops off the windshield. Reborn watched them, weighing the pros and cons. The chances that the work would be boring were too high. Usually, he did not undertake jobs like this.  
.  
.  
"My boss chose you because he always chooses the best," Peppe finally said, "If you're in doubt, we will double your usual price."  
.  
Reborn again glanced at the picture of the stuntman and smirked at him in return.  
.  
"Consider that him already dead."  
.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________  
.  
As soon as he got out of the airport, Reborn got into a taxi. The long flight and the change of time zones had exhausted him, and the thought that in a couple of days it would be necessary to do the same way in the opposite direction irritated him. Perhaps he shouldn't have agreed to this job.  
.  
.  
But he did not fly back two days later or even a week later.  
.  
.  
Initially, Reborn was going to just shoot the target as soon as possible. He found a good spot on the roof of a house, past which the stuntman went by every day on his motorcycle several times. This house, like many of the buildings here, was low, but the thick foliage of the trees hid the roof well from prying eyes and at the same time did not interfere with his survey, and, luckily, there was a bakery nearby that sold coffee, which helped while waiting.  
.  
.  
To aim at the targets head was, of course, impossible because of the helmet, so Reborn was aiming at his heart but whenever the motorcycle stopped at the traffic light, and the stuntman began to fidget impatiently in his seat, waiting for the green light. A couple of times he even lazily leaned back. To get into position at that moment was easy, but every time something went wrong. The Target at the last moment would bent down to zip up his boot, or turn to show the driver following him a foul gesture, and then as soon as the light turned green, he would take off.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
In the end, Reborn was so fed up with everything that he decided not to wait and shoot a moving target. An accident at his speed could lead to a fatal outcome, and if not, would at least cause the motorcycle to stop, giving Reborn the opportunity to Shoot him. The only thing to remain an obstacle was to choose a moment when other cars would not be around, so as to avoid unnecessary casualties.  
.  
.  
At first, everything went exactly as he had expected. A pair of well-aimed shots forced the motorcycle to go south, he immediately skidded, the front wheel spun, and the heavy machine, having lost control, crashed into the fence of the house opposite. Reborn checked to see others had noticed and thought distantly that Harley Davidson was no longer the same. Or was it not Harley Davidson? He was not particularly interested in motorcycles.  
.  
.  
Nobody tried to get out from under the pile of iron which the motorcycle had turned into. Reborn calmly finished his coffee, watching as the driver of a Ford slowed down. Once he stopped he jumped out of his car and took out his phone, probably to call an ambulance.  
.  
Sighing, Reborn threw up his arms and walked slowly down the fire escape to join the onlookers. It was necessary to make sure that the work was completed.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
When he was at the place of the accident, the stuntman was already sitting on the pavement and he turned his head to look at the was once his motorcycle.  
.  
"Damn, my third Yamaha ..."  
.  
"Forget the Yamaha, kid, are you OK?" Asked the EMT

The victim Looked at the crowd around with a bewildered glance, momentarily pausing at Reborn. 

"My head hurts," he complained.  
.  
.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
.  
.  
.  
Reborn was annoyed.  
.  
Reborn had jobs that he did not manage to finish quickly in the past. But he was no longer a rookie, He was the Worlds Greatest Hitman, and when it came to this point, one shot was usually enough.  
.  
And this time it should have been enough.  
.  
Reborn again checked his revolver and hid it under his jacket, he did not want to attract attention to himself.  
.  
He watched the target imperceptibly, hidden in the shadow of one of the trailers. The stuntman was too noisy, he talked too loudly, behaving too intrusively. When the break was announced, he poured himself a cup of coffee from his thermos into a paper cup and moved to the closer to the other members of the crew, who were enjoying a free minute behind the trailers. Reborn was skeptical about the way the target was trying to get everyone's attention and was enthusiastically telling them something, not noticing that the excited exclamations and unnecessarily emotional gestures get on their nerves. Soon everyone ran away under various pretexts, leaving him alone.  
.  
A more convenient opening could not have been made.  
.  
Reborn stepped out of the shadows and headed for the stuntman, grabbing his revolver as he went.  
.  
The target then looked up and suddenly beamed at the sight of him. Because of the sun, his brown hair seemed reddish.  
.  
"Are you new here? I think I saw you somewhere." The Target asked  
.  
Reborn said nothing, but the boy did not hesitate and continued:  
.  
"Cool gun. By the way, have you ever heard the crazy story about how I lost my third Yamaha? I still can't understand ..."  
.  
The barrel of the revolver rested against his chest.  
.  
"How it happened." he finished mechanically.  
.  
.  
.  
Because of the noise on the site, the sound of the shot was heard only by the two of them. The stuntman staggered. Reborn grabbed him, embraced him like a lover, and fired at point-blank again. He then lowered him to the grounf, the stuntman tried to cling to him, but did not have the strength and slowly settled on the dusty asphalt.  
.  
"Is this a joke?" He said with difficulty. Then he suddenly smiled. "Right! We're shooting a movie here. It's charged with idle ones, huh? But you made such a serious face, I almost believed ..."  
.  
Reborn shook his head and again aimed, intending to make a final, control shot. But then someone shouted nearby;  
.  
"Hey, understudy! Where are you? We are ready to begin! "  
.  
He then quickly retreats into the shadows to stay unnoticed.  
.  
His goal, meanwhile, was rising from the asphalt.  
.  
"Friend, you might at least have warned me next time. Blank or not that hurt, and the jacket, damn it's new..."  
.  
.  
"Everyone In their places! Silence on The site!" the director's shout was repeatedly amplified by the loudspeaker. "Where is the understudy?"  
.  
"Heck! I'm the understudy. Sorry, I have to go. Somehow we'll chat later!" And rushed to the platform.  
.  
Left alone, Reborn crouched down and picked up something dimly glittering in the dust.  
.  
There was definitely something wrong with this case, he decided, looking at the bullet in his fingers. And he was going to find out exactly what.  
.  
.  
.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
.  
.  
.  
.  
The condo the stuntman rented, looked little like the advertising in a glossy magazine. The plaster on the walls peeled off, in an empty pool with a broken tile lay a wrapper from a chocolate bar and dried leaves. Locks on the doors had not changed, it seemed, since the assassination of Kennedy, and it was possible to open them, perhaps not with a hairpin, but with the tip of a penknife. Although the building was completely out-of-the-way, and robbers hardly wandered there. Perhaps Reborn was the first in many years to see how the locks lacked strength.  
.  
He did not know what he hoped to find. Clearly, the failure from last time was almost certainly because the stuntman had a bulletproof vest or some special suit for filming. That was the only logical explanation.  
.  
But Something was wrong and Reborn did not like the feeling that someone was trying to make play him.  
.  
He walked around the apartment, not turning on the lights. Scattered clothes, vinyl records, a turntable in the corner, motorcycle magazines, a water tap, an unwashed cup of coffee, posters on the walls. But he managed to find the only Good thing about this apartment; from the kitchen window, you could see the ocean.  
.  
He left, carefully closing the door behind him, but he did not escape unnoticed.  
.  
"Wait, what are you doing here?" A man called in a worn jacket.  
.  
Reborn stared at him, studying. At first glance, it was one of those old bachelors who are not able to iron their shirts themselves and have a habit of masking their bald spots, carefully combing his hair from the back of his head. 

"Are you the guy who was looking for a place to live? I've been waiting for you for an hour, I wanted to go home." 

That guy, most likely, had mistaken Reborn for someone else, and not wanting to needlessly waste bullets, He nodded.

"You're mixed up a little, this apartment has already been leased," the man who had introduced himself as John Fletcher, "But the neighbor is free, and an excellent option."  
.  
Reborn tilted his head slightly, thinking.  
.  
"And how much do you want for it?"

Fletcher scratched his head and said the price. 

"This is just for the quarter? "  
"What quarter? It's the standard monthly fee. Oh, you are not from here. Yes, I thought you had an accent. The housing here is the cheapest you'll find. It even has a view of the ocean!"  
.  
"In clear weather."  
"Sir, This is California, the weather is always clear," Fletcher proudly puffed out his chest.  
.  
Well. Perhaps, He could learn more. And at the same time save on the hotel.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
.  
.  
.  
.

A couple of days later, Reborn woke up in his new apartment. He listened to the wind-up disco music that woke him up, rattling behind the wall, and looked at his watch. Four thirty. Getting up, he began to dress slowly, deciding that this time he will surely kill the stuntman. Even if he had to strangle him with his own hands.  
.  
No one heard the polite knock because of the roar of music. |So Reborn just pushed the door, It was not unlocked. Entering, he stopped on the threshold, waiting for to be noticed. Now he was forced to enjoy not only Donna Summer but also of the inhabitant of the apartment, who danced in front of a mirror in his underwear and pressed his brush to his lips in the manner of a microphone. "Looking for some hot stuff baby this evening, need some hot stuff baby tonight"!  
.  
Reborn tilted his head to one side, watching the sharp, rapid movements and regretting that he had not brought his gun. The moment was good: there was no bulletproof vest, or whatever saved his target last time, and he did not notice the presence of an intruder. Reborn would have had time to release the entire clip into him. Reborn took a step but they still did not turn to him. It was a little offensive. He stepped closer.  
.  
Many, when having someone find them at such a moment, would have died on the spot with shame, but here it was hardly possible to count on. The stuntman was unlikely to feel shame, his personality insofar had not seemed the type. It's not that there were absolutely no reasons for that. His body was young, slender and flexible, and he did not dance so badly. Shut his mouth up with something else, and it would be nice to see it. Reborn took another step forward. The stuntman had a small birthmark above his hip, which involuntarily attracted the eye. He wanted to cover it with his palm.  
.  
.  
When the song was over, the needle of the player rushed around in a strange noisy breath, until the first chords of the next sounded. Then Reborn picked it up, accidentally brushed it on the plate, causing a piercing scratching sound, and he was finally noticed.  
.  
"Wow, I had spectators? "  
.  
"Only one. "  
.  
"On your face, I can that you want to say something"  
.  
"Can not you guess what?" "  
.  
"Hmm. That I have great legs?  
.  
Reborn shook his head. It seems that this guy had not in vain chosen his profession as a stuntman. He seemed to enjoy games with death.  
.  
"No? What then? Ah, I know! You think I would be a great rock star! You know, I've been thinking about it, but ..."  
.  
In the blink of an eye, Reborn crossed the distance between them, grabbed his neck and slammed him against the wall.  
.  
"But?", He repeated in an even tone.  
.  
"But I decided to start with a movie star ..." they croaked in reply.  
.  
"If I were you, I'd start with learning manners," Reborn advised. And, looking at the fingers, clasping his hand in an unsuccessful attempt to loosen his grip, added; "And at the same time I would get rid of the idiotic habit of painting your nails black."  
.  
"N-I cannot breathe ..."  
.  
"But can you still speak?"  
.  
"With labor ... home ..."  
.  
"Then be silent and listen. If you wake me again at four thirty in the morning, your death will be long and painful. Do you understand me?  
.  
"And if not ... will you kill me quickly ... and painlessly?"  
.  
"Exactly. I'm glad that we understood each other."  
.  
Reborn let go of his hand, believing that the issue was done.  
.  
"And by the way. I'm your new neighbor. Nice to meet you."  
.  
In response, there was a hoarse, slightly uncertain laughter.  
.  
"You know, I even like your sense of humor. Did I see you at the studio? Recently moved to Cali?"  
.  
Reborn nodded.  
.  
"For a long time? "  
.  
"No. I'm here on business."  
.  
"You're Italian, right? I could tell from the accent. My mother was Italian, I remember some phrases."  
.  
"Really?"  
.  
"Ciao! Fa caldo qui, o è perchè ci sei tu?"  
.  
Reborn cocked an eyebrow.  
.  
"Did your mother teach you that?"  
.  
"Ha! No, actually grandfather, when he taught me to drive up to the Italian girls."  
.  
"I hope you did not put it in practice."  
.  
Reborn stepped to the door, thinking the conversation was over.  
.  
"Not before," came from behind.  
.  
He turned around.  
.  
"It's a joke! Don't look at me like that, I'll feel naked."  
.  
"Not surprising. It's not far from the truth."  
.  
"Ha! And really ..."  
.  
There was an awkward pause.  
.  
"Come ti chiami? What's your name? You did not say."  
.  
"Reborn."  
.  
"Wow! What a great nickname" Without noticing Reborn's look, he continued;  
.  
"I, too, need a cool nickname. For a movie star, this is important. Hmm, would be a good choice ... Maybe Cool Skull? No, it should be shorter ... Just a Skull? Skull? Will it work for me?

"Skull? Hmm ... "  
.  
"That sounds great, huh? A lot better than Reborn, but it's not my fault that you did not think of it before. Skull, um ... Listen, and repeat again, I want to hear how it sounds."  
.  
"Skull," Reborn said at the exit. "Listen to me carefully, SKull. Now you will shut up and sit here quietly so that I can get some sleep. Do you understand, Skull?"  
.  
He slammed the door behind him, but before he could get back to his, Skull opened himself again, and a disheveled head peeked out of the crack.  
.  
"Chao, Reborn! Sweet Dreams!"  
.  
Reborn rolled his eyes and slammed the door with his foot.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
.  
.  
.  
.

Skull looked for him the next day.  
.  
"Shall we get some girls and have some fun?" He suggested, "I know some great places..."  
.  
Reborn silently slammed the door in his face.  
.  
"I just got a new bike," Scully shouted through the door. "Mine is in the shop, you will not believe why! I was traveling one day on ..."  
.  
Reborn walked around the apartment, made himself a coffee. When the voice behind the door died down, he gingerly peered out. It seems that SKull gave up and went off to have fun alone. It was a good opportunity to check his apartment again. He said that his mother is Italian, so some connection with the mafia could still exist.  
.  
From the last visit in SKull's room, nothing has changed. Only a poster was torn off the wall.  
.  
Reborn walked, cautiously stepping between the piles of clothes lying on the floor and envelopes and pulled the drawers of the desk, also littered with all sorts of rubbish. He himself did not know for sure what he was looking for, perhaps a diary or photographs, something that could give him some information. Under the pile of bills on the table, only some detective stories were found.  
.  
From the corner of his eye, he caught some movement - but it was just his reflection in the mirror. It reminded him of yesterday's improvised concert and made him smirk.  
.  
He found the diary in the back of one of the drawers of the desk. It was a thick leather bound book, obviously handed to SKull by someone who did not want to puzzle over a gift that he really would like. Several sheets were torn from it, but Reborn was almost sure that there was no important information on them, and that they were torn out, only to quickly record something like a telephone number for a repair shop for motorcycles or something. Because almost all the remaining sheets were clean, only on the title page there was an inscription "diary" and a pair of hastily puffed-up faces, and the next one under the date was the first and only record: "From childhood, I knew that I was fucking up."  
.  
.  
There were several letters under the diary in printed envelopes, but Reborn did not have time to study them because at that moment the approaching bellow of a motorcycle was heard and he had to leave through the window so that he was not found.  
.  
It's strange, it seems that SKull left recently. Did the entertainment not work out?  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
It wasn't long before someone was knocking at his door.

"Hey, are you at home?"

Reborn threw open the door, and Skull jumped back. He looked unhappy and disheveled, a trace on his cheek, which looked to be from a slap to the face.

"The girls refuse to ride a motorcycle?" Reborn asked with a grin. 

Skull silently pushed him away and walked into the apartment, unzipping his jacket on the way. 

"It is much more serious than that. You have to help me."

Reborn cocked an eyebrow. 

"They want to kill me!" 

"Her husband was a master of sports in martial arts?"

"It's not funny! "

SKull threw off his jacket and sat down on the bed. He looked pale and frightened. 

"Are you sure?" Reborn asked cautiously, sitting next to him. "If you quarreled, your girlfriend could talk to her husband in a temper."

"She's not my girlfriend anymore," Skull waved. "And that's not the point. They are hunting me. Seriously. "

"Did you do something?" 

"Nothing. That is, depending on what counts as 'done'..." he hesitated. "But it's different. It's a real maniac."

"Yah..."

"Right! I just discovered that someone was rummaging through my things while I was gone." 

Oops. 

"Are you sure? Your things are scattered all over the room, so ..." 

"Exactly, I tell you. My lipstick is gone!" 

Reborn mechanically checked his pockets, although he remembered well that he did not touch the lipstick. 

"Maybe under the bed?"

"Come on, it's just that. Recently, I constantly feel someone's eyes on me. As if someone was tracking me down." He shivered. "And then they told me that someone was asking about me at the studio. And this letter ..."

"What letter?" 

"Usual. Well, you know, which all the maniacs write to popular movie stars."

Reborn was silent for a moment. 

"And you did not try to address to the psychotherapist? As it is customary for you, for movie stars." 

"I've come up with a better way. It's necessary to make this maniac lose my track. I will recolor myself as an ashy blond and temporarily move in with you." 

Reborn whistled. 

"Really, great idea. What happens if I refuse?"

"Yes, it's a great idea. Why would you refuse?" Skull nudged him in the side. "Do not be afraid, dyeing your hair is not difficult."  
.  
.  
.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
.  
.  
.  
Th ebathroom was barely big enough for two people. SKull sat on a chair with a broken back, throwing an old shirt on his bare shoulders. Reborn rolled up his shirt sleeves and picked up a tube of paint and a bottle of developer. 

"Mix it, but do not shake it," he repeated to himself. 

"The main thing is that the color turns out to be uniform."

As soon as he touched Skall's hair, he trustingly leaned back, slightly throwing back his head. His eyes were closed. Reborn ran his fingers through the chestnut strands, removing them from his forehead, and thought, looking in the mirror at the defenselessly exposed neck, that a sharp knife or a blade of a razor could now solve the whole thing. He began to study the contents of the shelf above the sink.

Skull smiled dreamily, not opening his eyes, leaned forward in his palm, and Reborn suddenly realized that he was stroking him like a kitten. He snorted, pushed his head away and took up the paint. 

doing his hair was annoying, thin strands kept clinging to the piercing rings in his ear. 

"Damn, how many do you have?" Reborn muttered irritably. 

"Let's take it off."

"Sit down." 

Skull, apparently feeling a little guilty, began to explain, still not opening his eyes;

"I can not get rid of this habit. You, maybe, did not notice, but I'm, how to say it ... special."

"Yeah," Reborn snorted. He walked around the chair in front, crouched next to the side of the bathroom. He threw up his hand with the clock to figure out when it would be possible to begin to wash off the paint, without stopping absent-mindedly to massage SKull's neck with his free hand. "You can open your eyes." 

Scully opened, but for some reason did not look at Reborn, but at their knees.

"It is hard to explain. But sometimes I start to doubt that I exist. And then I pierce a new hole."

"In other words, you're a masochist," Reborn said. 

"You are a masochist," snapped Skull. "I do not like pain and I'm afraid of it. I just want to feel alive. This is one of the ways."

"Is the motorcycle second?" Reborn suggested. "And the stuntman's work is the third?"

"Yeah."

"Are there any other ways?" 

Work with the mafia in this list would fit perfectly. 

Skull looked at him, "Maybe. how long till I can rinse?"

Apparently, Reborn still made a mistake, because the ashen blond did not work for them. 

"Purple!" Skull exclaimed, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

Reborn shrugged his shoulders. 

"But the color is very uniform," he remarked. "And original. I like it." 

Skull looked at him doubtfully. 

"No, really," he tried to not laugh, so as not to betray himself, stretched and ruffled his hair. "Suits you."

Skull did not recolor his hair.

.  
.  
.  
.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________  
.  
.  
.  
.

Needless to say, Reborn was not going to sacrifice his comfort, so Skull had to sleep on a narrow sofa by the window. Or on the floor, because he slept restlessly and continually slid down. Reborn had time to get used to it, but every morning he was still stepping on blanket cover limps on the way to the bathroom. Of course holding his ears, so as not to hear the terrible screams in response.  
.  
Sometimes Scully woke him up first. When he could not sleep, he could not behave quietly, and on the floor, apparently, he did not sleep very well.  
.  
"Hey, Hey! 

Reborn had difficulty in suppressing the urge to snatch a revolver from under his pillow and put it to Skull's temple. Do not act rashly, it could be something important. 

"What happened? "

"Let's go swimming!" 

Shaking off the leech, Reborn mentally counted to ten and turned on the lamp above the bed to look at his watch. 

"Damn, it hurts," Scull groaned from somewhere on the floor. 

"Did I not say what would happen if you did not let me sleep again?" 

"You talked about four thirty in the morning, and now it's not even one o'clock in the morning! You know, I looked at you when you were sleeping, and suddenly I thought ... "

"Are you stupid?"

Scully continued, as if nothing had happened: 

"I thought, I'd like to bathe right now." 

"In the ocean?"

"Yeah."

"It's ice cold at night." 

"Just what I need right now."

Scully emerged from behind the bed, put his elbows on the blanket and buried his chin in his crossed arms. He was clearly delighted with his idea. 

Reborn scowled at him, turned over on the other side and said; 

"Without me." 

"Come on, it will be fun! If you do not want to swim, just go with me for the company. What if suddenly, I start to sink, someone will have to ..." 

"Make sure you do not swim out? Well, if only for the sake of it."

____________________

Scall ran out of the water after only a couple of minutes, teeth chattering from the cold. 

"Well, did it help you feel alive?" Reborn snorted. 

"Try it yourself, if you want to know." 

He, of course, did not think about the towel and now quickly wiped himself with his own T-shirt. 

"If I want to, it's not that great." 

"I'm terribly cold," Skull complained, his shoulders chilly. "Let's go home. Will you give me your jacket? "

Instead of replying, Reborn took off his jacket, spread it on the sand, and sat down on top, taking off his shoes, into which small pebbles were packed. 

"Not so fast. I want first to fully enjoy the noise of the surf and the cool night breeze." 

"You want to enjoy my death from hypothermia. Freak."

"I will not deny that it can be a pleasant bonus."

"Where did you come by," Scully grumbled. "Such ... such ..." 

"Charming?" 

"I'm really cold."

"Sit down, you're blocking my view." 

"What view? It's dark." 

Skull cast a doubtful glance at him, but nevertheless, he sank down next to him in the sand. 

Reborn suddenly pulled him to him abruptly and asked with a grin;

"Warmer?" 

Skull mumbled something unintelligible, and clung to him more strongly, leaving damp spots on the thin fabric of the shirt where water was still dripping from his hair. He was trembling violently.

"How do you feel?" Reborn asked politely, after a while. 

Skull stopped trying to move closer to him and was silent for a bit. 

"I'm not gay," he said suddenly, with a note of desperation in his voice. "I like girls. I like blondes with a big ..." 

"Yes," Reborn nodded calmly, tightening his hold of him. "I noticed."

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Night swimming did not pass Skull without a trace: he fumbled and sneezed all night, not allowing Reborn to get enough sleep. 

"I'm going to die," he groaned in the morning. 

"Pneumonia?" Rebourne suggested, not without maliciousness. 

Skull got out of the pile of blankets and looked at him from under the bangs that fell to his eyes. 

"If two guys live together, is it okay to masturbate with each other? I want to know somehow they need to masturbate." 

"No," Reborn snapped relentlessly. "Do not even think about it."

"I'm going to die," Skull said plaintively. 

"Do me the favor."

Reborn was already finishing his shave when he realized that Scully was somehow suspiciously quiet. He rinsed his face with cold water, dabbed him with a towel, and turned around.

Skull stood in the middle of the room in a T-shirt and shorts and stared at him through the open bathroom door. 

"What?" 

"Nothing," he answered quietly. 

Then he took a step forward and quickly muttered: 

"Do not kill me, please." 

"What?" Repeated Reborn, slightly perplexed. 

He did not have time to say anything else, because after a moment SKull was already hanging on him, clasping his hands tightly around his neck and kissing him as if he was sure that this kiss would be his last. 

Reborn stood still in surprise, then picked him up to restore balance. Skull immediately pressed his body to him, wrapping his legs around his hips.

Getting out of the bathroom with difficulty, Reborn tried to unhook him, but it was not so easy. And had to use a distracting maneuver and respond to a kiss. 

It worked: Skull froze, involuntarily loosened his grip, and Reborn took the moment to throw him on the bed. 

"I'm not sure I'm ready ... like this right away ..." Scull mumbled, reaching for the pillow that had fallen to the floor. Before putting it in place, he suddenly frowned. Reborn realized why, even before he saw his revolver in his hands. 

"What ..." Scully began puzzled, but then suddenly he was enlightened. He stared at Reborn, gasping with a shocked air;

"It's you ... You're the maniac! You've been following me all the time! And only dreamed of getting to my innocent body! How could I have never guessed ..."

"Do not dramatize, I was just going to kill you."

"Was going to?"

"I'm going to," Reborn said. 

Skull pointed a revolver at him. 

"Do not get too close!" 

"It must first be removed from the safety. Do you seriously think that someone would like your body so much? 

Skull scowled. He was about to say something, but he did not have time - the doorbell rang. 

They exchanged glances. 

"Who could it be?" 

Reborn shrugged his shoulders. 

"Hey, I've been asked to give something to your neighbor, but he's not at home!" Came from behind the door. "Can I leave it to you?"

On the threshold stood an unremarkable guy in a baseball cap. In one hand he fumbled the envelope, the other wiped the sweat from his forehead. 

"Well, you guys live pretty out of the way, I had to make several turns on my bike before I found a turn here. "

"Where did you get that?" 

The guy did not look like a postman. 

"I'm working on pizza delivery, I was already going home, as some Mister stopped in the street and offered me twenty if I deliver a letter." 

"Thank you for your hard work. Reborn snatched the letter from him. "I hope you find the way back faster." 

He slammed the door.

"What is it?" Skull asked, getting up from the bed. 

Reborne turned the envelope in his hands. Neither a return address nor any other inscriptions were on it. 

"Hmm ..." 

"Something from the secret admirer?"

"Or a fan." 

Reborn handed him the envelope. SKull quickly tore it open. Inside, a sheet with one single phrase was found; "From this moment the task becomes more complicated." 

"Heck!" 

"Your maniac?" Reborn suggested. 

Skull sat down again on the bed and dropped his head in his hands. 

"So it's not you." 

"It's not me," Reborn agreed. "What was in the previous letter?" 

"Try to survive if you can. I heard you're doing it well," Skull cited from memory.

This, of course, could just be a coincidence. But Reborn did not believe in coincidence. 

"And how long ago did you get it?" 

"Just before you showed up. That's why I decided ... "

"It's clear." Reborn stepped toward the bed to take his revolver. "By the way, I was really hired to kill you." 

Skull looked up at him. His face was in the shadows because Reborn had overshadowed the light from the window.

And then a machine gun burst.

The sound of broken glass mixed with the random sounds of the shots. Fired from the window, Reborn immediately realized that he was an ideal target for them. Something hit him, knocking him down.

But, unexpectedly, he was not in the next world, but only on the floor. 

Carefully touching the shoulder of Skull, who fell on him, he whispered: 

"Hey." 

He did not move. 

Reborn sighed. 

"How long are you going to pretend to be dead?" 

Skull turned, struggled to his feet, and hovered over him, again blocking himself. Blood ran down his temple, he mechanically tried to wipe it with the back of his hand, and only smeared more. 

"How did you know I was pretending?" he asked. The voice sounded a little hoarse. Maybe he really got sick. 

"You yourself said you were special." 

Skull smiled uncertainly.

"Besides, I did not hit my head so hard that I did not notice how you would put it in my neck," Reborn said with a grin. 

"And now what? You're killing me?"

"No." He pushed Scully aside and, rolling, raised his weapon. "My customer violated the terms of the transaction. I warned that I always work alone."

"So ..." 

"If you get rid of the habit of waking me up at night, you're safe." 

"what safety?" Scully threw himself up. "There's a whole platoon of men with submachine guns behind the door! I'm not that special, you know! "

"Nonsense," Reborn snorted, shadowing along the wall. "If I could not kill you, no one will be able to do it," he declared in an impartial tone.  
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Then he stood at the door, threw it open and began to shoot.  
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"How the hell are you doing this?" Skull broke when they started the chase on someone else's Camaro, as he continued to shoot back. Each shot of Reborns found a target.

Reborn looked at him and grinned. 

"Let's just say, I'm a bit special, too."

They drove past a snow-white mansion in a colonial style when the Camaro ran out of gasoline. The choice of passing through private property directly did not remain, but the adjacent territory was too big. In addition, now in the pursuit of them were dogs. And, most likely, someone's bodyguards. For sure it was impossible to say, from a distance, all the men in black suits and sunglasses looked the same.

Skull stopped, his palms resting on his knees and breathing heavily. 

"I can not go anymore. Now I will die if we do not ... 

Reborn looked at him with an appraising look. Then he grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into a kiss

Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of chasing and barking dogs. 

When they broke away from each other, Skull breathed even harder. 

"What was that for?" He squeezed out with difficulty. 

"You said yourself that you would die if we did not," Reborn said with a wink. 

"If we do not stop! Was what I was going to say "

"Yes? And the look read 'if you do not rape me right before the eyes of Barbara Streisand's bodyguards.'" 

"What?! that was not in my eyes!"

"It was, it was. This, and still "do me from the very morning and could not masturbate."

Scully opened his mouth, clearly going to be indignant, but suddenly stopped. 

"Wait a second. How long have you been staring at me to read all this in a glance?"

"Speaking of bodyguards, by the way. They are catching up." 

Rebern turned and, without waiting for an answer, strode off with a quick step toward the fence of the mansion, intending to swing across it right here. 

"Hey! Do not leave without answering!" Skull shouted, rushing after him. "You like my eyes don't you?" 

At least now he was not behind. He seemed to have a second wind.  
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If Los Angeles were like small Italian towns, they could be saved by the intricate labyrinths of narrow streets that Reborn knew like the back of his hand. But this city was completely different. And here there was only one thing that could save you - speed. 

Well, of course, accurate shooting. Each bullet was on point, and Reborn did not waste them in vain. The number of people gradually decreased until, finally, they disappeared altogether.

For the sake of precaution, Reborn walked a couple more blocks on foot to make sure for sure that there was no tail. Skull wobbled beside him, head down and kicking can. He had become noticeably quiet and did not try to ask Reborn anymore. Maybe he's just too tired.

When they finally got to the motel and were left alone in the room, Skull wets a towel in the bathroom and, wincing at the pain, began to wash the blood from his temple. 

"Let me see," Reborn suggested, dropping the useless weapon on the table and coming closer. 

He threw back his head and closed his eyes. 

He washed off the cosmetics, and now he seemed like an ordinary boy, except perhaps too pale. On the bridge of the nose, barely noticeable freckles could be seen. For some reason, Reborn did not notice them before. Probably never approached so closely. 

"It's just a scratch," he said, wetting the wound once more. Then he put down the towel. 

Skull did not open his eyes as if waiting for something else. Reborn ran his fingers over the metal rings in his ear and gently tugged at the latter.

"You'll be all right," he said calmly. 

And he turned away.

The next day, Skull stated that he needed to go to the studio, and disappeared somewhere for the whole day. Reborn thought that it would be necessary to order a return ticket to Rome, but for some reason, he did not do it.

In the evening, Skull went to say good-bye. 

"They offered me another job," he said. "I'd like to check out." 

"I'm happy for you," Reborn said, meticulously studying the dirty spot yesterday planted inadvertently on the cuff of his shirt. 

There was an awkward pause. Then the front door slammed.

In eighteen minutes it slammed open again. 

"Are not you going to stop me?" 

Reborn turned. 

"What for? 

Scull stood on the threshold, trying to regain his breath, and looked as if he had just run a hundred-meter dash. He was obviously going to snarl, but, it seems, changed his mind at the last moment. 

"Okay. Since we'll never see each other again, I'll tell you how it is ... It's not because you're not a blonde with big buffers. Just you ... like a piercing. I feel alive, but it hurts. And I ... I can get used to you very much. 

Reborne grinned. 

"Only do not cry, or else the ink will be smeared." 

Scull sobbed. 

"It will not be smeared, it's water resistant. Chao, Reborn."

"Chao."

The door did not slam any more. 

Two days later, Reborn booked a ticket for the next flight to Rome.  
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At home, there was already a new job offer waiting for him. He did not like that the employer considered it necessary to arrange this preliminary check, but on the whole, the proposal was curious, so he agreed - and not because he expected to see Skull among the seven strongest.

Skull still dyed his hair in purple and drove on a motorcycle, only adding more piercing rings - one was added in the lip, from which a thin chain stretched to his ear. 

"Chaos, Skull." 

He involuntarily stepped back a step. He was clearly not ready for this meeting and did not expect anything good from him. 

"Chao". 

Reborn mocked. 

"It's good that our paths crossed so quickly huh? A few more holes and you would look like Swiss cheese."


End file.
